


Step

by aceholmes



Series: Johnlock Oneshots [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 08:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1933413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceholmes/pseuds/aceholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chasing criminals through nighttime London, John and Sherlock get themselves stuck in a dodgy lift. John is typically furious. Sherlock, not so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Step

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY (late) LYDIA! I'm not sure what's going on here but here you go!  
> In other news, I have taken another smutty idea and turned it into fluff. With a tiny bit of angst, today.  
> Anyway, yeah. This is named after/the lyric is taken from a Vampire Weekend song, which is one of my favourites. Also, no beta bc I suck. Sorry.

__The gloves are off, the wisdom teeth are out_ _

__What you on about?_ _

__I feel it in my bones, I feel it in my bones_ _

__I'm stronger now, I'm ready for the house_ _

__Such a modest mouse_ _

__I can't do it alone, I can't do it alone_ _

* * *

 

'Come on, John!'

John's lungs were literally on fire. Well, perhaps not literally. As a doctor, he was fairly certain that was impossible without some outside influence.

Though, with the lack of oxygen going to his brain, he was still inclined to genuinely believe the inside of his chest was in flames. Just for a brief second, before Sherlock's excitable tones began bouncing off the walls of the abandoned hall way, bringing back to reality.

'We have to take the lift.'

'What? Are you insane? No way!'

Two pairs of thundering feet skidded against the plastic floor, their squealing the only sound other than their frantic panting.

'He's expecting us to go up the stairs! If we go in the lift, he'll think we've stopped chasing him and slow down. I though wanted to catch the man?'

John shook his head, almost chucking at the absurdity of the situation. Was Sherlock high again? Had he been looking at the bloody building at all? The peeling wallpaper, the drooping ceilings, the spiderweb windows?

'He doesn't think we'll use the lift because he's probably under the foolish impression that we actually value our lives.' he hissed in a sharp whisper, jogging towards the rickety looking stairs. 'Now hurry up! The stairs are this way.'

Before he could even take one step up, a gigantic hand wrapped itself around his bicep and pulled. He found himself lurched backwards; his stomach was left behind for a moment before he gathered himself up.

Metal doors slid shut behind him. 

'You're going to have to budge up. It appears it's smaller in here than I anticipated.'

He was right. The metal capsule was small- the kind of small that crushed your lungs and made the palm of your hands sticky with sweat. The kind of small that John hated; although he was certain not many people were keen on practically coffin sized boxes. And Sherlock, well the detective was practically straddling him. With one lanky leg and one equally as lanky arm each side of him, John felt his best friend's frantic breath against his cheek.

'Jesus Christ!'

'You might have to, erm, move round a bit. I can't reach the buttons from here.'

'Oh, right.'

'John, you're blushing.'

'We- we did just run up four flights of stairs.'

'Hm.' Sherlock scoffed, smirking and bending round to punch the mouldy disk on the wall. The lift jerked up with a scream, rattling Sherlock over and even closer into John.

'Sherlock!'

'Sorry, sorry.'

The gap between them stretched out again. Each of the men took a deep gasp, feeling the churn of the metal cables above them.

'You're angry with me.'

'Of course I'm angry with you.'

'I don't- I don't understand. This is the best possible way to-'

'This building is _condemned_ , for God's sake, and I really don't fancy finding out why!'

'Relax-'

'Relax? I can't relax! If we end up dying because of a faulty lift after all the /stupid things/ we have done I swear, I swear if we come back as ghosts-'

'Ghosts, John? Really?'

'Shut up, Sherlock, or I'll punch you.'

'No, you won't.'

'I will, I really will.'

Sherlock's treacle laugh was interrupted by a grating squeal from above their heads.

'Was that what I think it- oof.'

Their feet hovered above the floor as it dropped from beneath them; the lift plunged down a few metres like a sick theme park ride before grinding to a halt with a final squeal. And then it all stopped. No noises, no movement. John and Sherlock lay in a tangle of arms and legs and coats and jumpers, bracing themselves for a second drop.

'Unbelievable.'

'John-'

'I told you something like this would happen.'

'Actually, I'm fairly certain you were telling me we would fall to our deaths. This doesn't feel like falling. I know what falling feels like.'

'Don't you dare say another word.'

'Move your leg, I need to reach my phone.'

'Those sound like words to me.' John growled, shifting up into a more upright position.

'Don't be so unreasonable. This is hardly my fault.'

'If we'd have taken the stairs...'

'Is that was self doubt sounds like? In which case, I'm rather glad I'm not prone to it.'

John sighed, burying his head in his hands in exasperation.

'No. It's what being friends with a suicidal moron feels like.'

Sherlock didn't reply; his fingers moved elegantly over the keyboard of his phone, his truant curls flopping over his face as he leant down to look at the screen.

'We won't be in here long.'

'No, because we'll fall and die. Did those cables sound safe to you? They didn't sound safe to me, but maybe I missed something. Like _always _.'__

The detective just scoffed. 

'At least we have the... ah.'

'What? What now?'

'The light just flickered.'

'No.'

'It's alright, my phone's got a torch on it.'

Flicker.

'You're joking.'

Flicker.

'This cannot be happening.'

Flicker.

'Apparently,' Sherlock noted, as the tiny pod dove into darkness, 'it is.'

John didn't dare peel his fingers from his eyes.

'Fuck.

The pair sat mutely, letting their eyes adjust to the cloaking black. The stench of urine and mould oozed from the floor and metal walls; John crinkled up his nose to block out the smells.

'Hang on, John. I'm going to move.'

'Okay.'

'Right.'

'What are you doing?' 

A shot of electric fizzled down John's spine as a blind hand grasped at his thigh. As the fingers squeezed, they might as well have been squeezing his lungs as the room seemed to be devoid of oxygen. He tried to take in more but chemicals, expensive suits and rich, rich honey had taken it's place.

'Is that your leg.'

'Yes.'

'Oh, whoops. And that bit is?'

'Not my leg. Definitely not my leg.'

'Oh my. Sorry.'

And John had thought a dodgy lift would be the only problem. At least, in the dark, nobody would see how red his cheeks must have gone.

Sherlock's hand thankfully shot up and into his jacket pocket at the speed of lightening; or the speed of a consulting detective that'd just received a text.

'Right. My phone just vibrated. Lestrade's sending help, although it looks like we've lost our little friend. Oh well. I didn't really think it was him anyway.'

The temperature in the lift shot up as the doctor glared venomously at the cluster of black hair.

'Are you telling me we didn't even need to be chasing him anyway?'

'Erm.

'No, I've had enough. I thought, I thought that after all that you and I had been through you'd stop this. But you haven't.'

'Stop what?'

'Being so _reckless_!'

'It's a lift, John.'

'It's an unnecessary risk and I can't- I can't bury you again. I can't take it. Especially if I could have prevented it. If I lose you... damn. Sherlock Holmes, you bastard, if you die then regardless of if my heart is beating or not I _will not be living_. I know it's, I know it's soppy. I do. So stop it. For me. Please.'

'John I-'

'No. No excuses. You don't feel the same, of course you don't. Not after...'

John had opened his mouth to continue, to make sure Sherlock knew, but his words dissolved when his lips were crushed with a matching pair.

He hadn't noticed his best friend moving closer. He hadn't noticed the hand that had returned to his leg, although higher and more careful now. He hadn't noticed the fingers that ran their way down his neck, pausing to wander along his spine.

He hadn't noticed. 

'Sherlock.' John mumbled, breaking away reluctantly. 'I didn't, I never...'

'You're an idiot.' was the reply.

'Hang on, did you mean for this to happen? You wouldn't chase someone for no logical reason without-'

'Can you hear that?'

'Don't you dare.'

'I think it's our knights in shining armour.'

'You can't avoid this.'

'I definitely heard something.'

Familiar tones drifted down to them.

'Boys, we're going to get you out.'

He'd never pin Sherlock down long enough to get answers now.

'Lestrade!'

'Oh, and I've found that woman you texted me about. Are you sure?'

'I'm more than sure.' 

Sherlock leapt up, holding out his hand. John clumsily pulled himself up with it, grateful for the helping hand. God knows he needed it.

'Come on. The game's back on!'

He stopped himself from smiling. Oh, the game had started, alright.


End file.
